


Driving Lessons (How To Remain Parked On The Curb)

by thepizzasitter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Car Sex, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex in the Bentley (Good Omens), Shameless Smut, Smut, The Bentley Ships It (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), crowley getting nailed in his own car is my jam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22852390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepizzasitter/pseuds/thepizzasitter
Summary: Aziraphale wants driving lessons. He's already got plenty of experience driving a particular demon to distraction, after all. Now if only they could keep their hands to themselves long enough to actually shift out of 'park'.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 283
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	Driving Lessons (How To Remain Parked On The Curb)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhiteleyFoster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteleyFoster/gifts).



> Wrote a quick thing because I’m madly in love with WhiteleyFoster's piece of art titled 'Distracted Driver'. The thought of these two scrambling into the backseat because they can’t keep their hands off each other is a delicious one :) Enjoy!

“Nnh, _angel_!”

They may have never left the curb, but Crowley felt like he was flying through traffic doing 150 in the middle of London.

The hands holding his hips down to the upholstery were merciless, not giving him any leeway to push back against the thick cock splitting him open. He was powerless to do anything but _take it_ , and the thought had him leaking steadily against the unyielding pressure of the leather seats beneath him.

He could barely spare an apologetic thought to his beloved car, though he knew he’d likely be paying for it in a multitude of ways later if it decided to get into a snit over this.

Then again, whoso loved his angel nearly as much as he did?

The Bentley, that’s who.

Thrice blessed thing was why he was getting railed in his own machine in the first place and _fuck_ but he owed it a nice drive, a wash, and anything else its metaphorical mechanical heart could possibly desire for not chasing them out with a barrage of Queen music when Aziraphale tentatively asked if Crowley would teach him how to drive.

And he would, someday, if he ever regained the already dubious control he’d had over his legs after Aziraphale was through with him.

The high pitched noise that escaped him when his angel pushed a hand between him and the seat would have been embarrassing if not for the way it made Aziraphale bite at his neck harder and let out a moan of his own.

“So beautiful like this, my love,” he panted against Crowley’s hair, kissing along the edge of his jaw to the snake emblazoned below his ear. The loose hold of his fist around the demon’s cock was maddening, his fingertips stroking lightly at the tip, just enough to get him riled up and no more. “So good for me.”

His denial was drowned out by the sound of humans making their way into the club they were parked next to, their revelry a counterpoint to what would have been a maudlin _m’not good, angel_.

The neon lights of Soho’s night life bathed them in red, painting Aziraphale in crimson and cream like the loveliest of temptations. Who was Crowley to resist?

“Turn over for me, love.”

He did as instructed, collapsing back and spreading his legs to entice the angel to settle between them. Aziraphale made a delighted sound of appreciation before he slid back in, gently this time, his eyes never leaving Crowley’s. He reached down to trace where they were connected, and Crowley threw an arm over his eyes with a strangled whine as he struggled not to come right then and there. “Goddamn it, angel.”

“None of that, my dear,” Aziraphale said breathlessly, taking Crowley’s hands into his to place them on his own body. The demon leaned up, shifting them both so they could kiss. He hissed in pleasure at the new angle, at how deep Aziraphale was inside him, set a new pace that had him holding tight to his angel as he impaled himself over and over again. He lost himself to the lights and the thudding music he could hear beyond the windows, to the smell of vintage leather and Aziraphale’s cologne, to the feeling of his angel whispering soft and loving things in his ear as thrust into the tight heat of Crowley’s body. Not his corporation, not in moments like this, when he was tied so tightly to the Earth. These were the rare times he wanted nothing more than to return to instinct and sink belly deep into the dirt and mud, his angel over him, keeping him there as he dug his burnt, grasping hands into the only Paradise he could ever want. _Our side, our side, our side, our home, our life, our Eden, our world._

“Fuck,” he moaned when Aziraphale held him open, spread him wider to nudge just the tip of his finger in alongside his cock. “ _Fuck_ , feels sssooo good. I— _nnh_!”

He came with a wordless cry, his face buried against Aziraphale’s neck, panting open mouthed against the salt-slickness of him and feeling wholly, utterly at peace here in the safety of his Bentley, pressed close to the warmth of his beloved, surrounded by humanity in all its imperfect perfection.

“Yes, angel, _yes_ , just like that,” he murmured, coaxing Aziraphale in just that little bit deeper until he was spent, resting against the other and biting softly at his neck as the thrusts into him became uneven and desperate. He sighed in pleasure when his angel moaned his name and held him tight, luxuriated in being filled as Aziraphale came inside him.

The haze of Soho’s lights crept in slowly, careful in a way the city rarely was, and Aziraphale pressed sweet kisses to his eyelids, his forehead, his nose as their breathing evened out. Crowley captured a hand and kissed each finger, the tender skin of his wrist, nipped playfully there and threw back his head to laugh when Aziraphale wrestled them up against the door to drink down the sounds of his demon’s happiness.

By the time they stumbled back into the bookshop, the Bentley had been thoroughly cleaned and effusive apologies made to it, though they both could feel the smugness practically radiating from it and promptly decided to not think too carefully on the potential sentience of demon-owned objects.

Eventually, Aziraphale would learn to drive. Sort of. If his skill at it depended entirely on how fast or slow the Bentley wanted to go that day, well…

Not even Crowley had figured out that he didn’t actually know how to drive either.

A Bentley was allowed its secrets, after all.


End file.
